I have a dear friend named Jenny. She is so funny – mostly because her comedy is not on purpose – just who she is everyday. She wears her guilt on her sleeve and cannot live in a lie. She is a wonderful person and when she wold need to admit to something she wold make a face and say “okay, truth train…” then share what ever it was that eating at her. Usually, it was something like, “I used all the colored paper and didn’t go get more,” or “I let them use glitter, and told them you’d love it if we made sure to get it in the carpet.”

As a teacher I introduced my students to the Truth Train. I would start class on Mondays with “Truth Train: Who did their homework?” The responses to Truth Train questions were always honest. I don’t know what it is, but people cannot lie on the Truth Train. I think I use more then Jenny does these days. Mostly, it makes me laugh and reminds my heart of the honest and loving people I know.

In that spirit, it is time for my own little Truth Train to come to town.

Truth is this blog scares me! I haven’t even shared the address with anyone! No one I know is reading this – not yet – the goal is that they will … one day, hopefully soon. I am having a hard time letting the truth out from my head, So much for being bolder. I am ridden with fear right now. Fear of things I think about all the time. Something about putting it all out here is overwhelming. It’s scary to know that once it’s here – it’s here. I don’t have something scary to share, nor do I anticipate really deep moments to happen here. Just every day stuff I want to get through. I just want to be intentional about my life and process what that is, what is looks like for me. I am not sure fear is the right word for what I am feeling but it’s a part of it. There is probably some issues of comparison in there too. I am hoping this post helps me get over myself.

I used to want to be a writer, I wanted to write stories and essays about things I’ve learned and things I love. I majored in creative writing and the one time I submitted a piece for publication I made it to the honorable mention listing on the over page of the journal. It was a really proud moment for me. I never submitted anything ever again. I started to think that I had nothing worth reading about. People love to read about heartache and tragedy. I thought I didn’t have any of that to write about. My peers referred to my stories as heartfelt and warm; innocent and fresh; cute. Cute. I went home and cried after that one. I probably didn’t even make it all the way home. I didn’t want to be cute. When I read those stories now, they were – they are cute.

I needed to learn to own myself, my experiences and my heart. I still need to learn how to do that. I think the years since my writing was described as “cute” have provided me with a larger net to grab from. The problem is that I am not going down in to that net. I know now that cute was fine. It was the truth and it wasn’t terrible. That the truth is, sometimes we need cute, we need warm and innocent. I least I do. I sometimes yearn for those softer moments. Talk about not knowing what you have.

It’s almost the more I have learned about myself in the past 10 years has also taught me how to put up walls from myself too. That is where this fear is coming from. This block between now and my bolder self. I am so excited to be my bolder self – the self that is intentionally and authentically me. I am excited for you to know that person too.

So, like I said in the beginning this blog is my own little experiment of living bolder. I am trying. It’s taking me a little longer to get to that deep end then I thought it would.